


Fantasizing Sherlock

by miamam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, John is bi, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Very nearly PWP, Virgin Sherlock, but very uncertain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamam/pseuds/miamam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why do people masturbate?" asks Sherlock and John would love to disappear rather than talk with Sherlock about that. With Sherlock, of all people! Never mind the gay porn on John's laptop, cumulating recently, it isn't strange men he would love to have in his bed. It's Sherlock, who he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think the letswritesherlock tumblr just kicked me to try again, and again, until I write anything good in English, which is not my first language. I hope there aren't many mistakes and if there are, well... I tried hard, but if you let me know, I will improve, eventually. :-P

John runs into the kitchen, almost tripping over his own foot, quickly turns the tap and drinks the water with his head in the sink. He coughs and sputters the water and then drinks again thirstily, turns the tap off, and breaths heavily.

He almost choked himself with dry crumbs of his morning toast and isn't quite sure if he shouldn't have left it that way. He thinks he is far too old for the bees and butterflies speech and if he was dead he would have definitely avoid that sort of conversation with Sherlock of all people.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asks eventually, his head tilting curiously to side.

John huffs, wipes away last drops of water with soft woollen sleeve of his brown sweater and straightens up.

"I'm perfectly all right. Am not quite sure about yourself, though," John mutters. He coughs again a little, goes back to the lounge and sits in his armchair.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and jumps onto his feet, pacing across the room, gesticulating wildly.

"I don't understand the mechanics nor the reasons, and even though I find it really amusing that you are not able to give me an answer immediately and without difficulties, while _you_ are the far-famed Three continent Watson, I will wait a little longer for your two imperceptible brain cells to put together and think of an adequate answer." He stops near the window and turns around, looking at John. "Well?"

"Well what?" John asks in disbelief and Sherlock's head falls back in exasperation.

"Honestly, John, are you even awake?" He ruffles his hair and groans. "Really simple question, do I have to write it down in hieroglyphics or maybe in pictures to get a simple answer?"

John laughs shortly and pinches his ear. With a low "ouch" he shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows on knees and rubbing palms over his face shortly. Sherlock narrows his eyes, looking slightly uncertain of what that gesture meant. John notices.

"Oh that was just to make sure I really was awake. Now, are you actually certain there is no another meaning to your question? Anything I could have misunderstood? Because, frankly, I'm a bit perplexed of what you have asked about."

Sherlock takes  a deep breath and as patiently and slowly as he is able to behave right now (not much, not really), he walks across the room, sits down in front of John and blinks few times.

"I'm sure I mean it just in the way I'm pronouncing it now: what do people do while masturbating?"

John suppresses another laughter, Sherlock could get angry unbelievably quickly and it seems it could happen any moment.

"Well, the mechanics..." John pauses and muses about how on earth he can tell that to Sherlock. He just shrugs in the end and continues. "Er... Sorry. Haven't you done it before? Ever? It's just... I can't quite believe that in your age you wouldn´t... You know. Wank." John smiles and winks. But Sherlock's face just looks blank. John's eyebrows rises. "You can't be serious..." he snorts. Sherlock frowns and John inhales sharply. "O-k..." he slowly releases his breath.

"Maybe I could inform you that I have some data on _what_ to do. But I don't understand what is happening during that... activity. Why bother in the first place."

John closes his eyes briefly and reminds himself that this is Sherlock, not a normal guy in any possible way.

"Well, people bother because it's very... Er, nice. The pleasure, you know?" _No, he doesn't know, apparently._ John tries to imagine a ten-year-old who'd know nothing about it and has just found out. He broods for a while, thinking about that if he ever had a son, he would try to comfort him and tell him about it more...

No - Way! He shudders.

What the hell do parents do about it? What do they tell? He really can't remember how it went when he had found out, it was so many years ago!  

It can't be so ha... _Difficult_. And Sherlock isn't ten anymore. He could understand, right?

"It's just like sex, but you're alone. Sometimes it's even better than sex. Sometimes. Ugh." He coughs.

"Really?" Sherlock queries with surprise. John frowns.

"Sherlock, do you have any experience? Any... At all...?" He shifts slightly and tries to deduce that from Sherlock's face but he isn't the one good at deducing people.

Sherlock waves his hand dismissively.

"It didn't occur to me that it could be anything useful."

"But it _is_ useful, Sherlock..." John interrupts in disbelief. "You were a teen like any other man, weren't you just..." John quickly seeks for another term instead of _horny._ "Tense, sometimes?"

"Of course I was," Sherlock replies. "But it passed eventually."

This will be very hard. Pardon the pun.

"You know... There are more pleasant ways to deal with it, if yo... If someone is alone. Apart from waiting for it to _pass._ That's why people do it. Sometimes they do it even though they're not..." _Horny. Sex-starved. Bottled up._ "...Tense." John adds lowly. Sherlock opens his mouth in slight awe.

"Really?? Do they do it without a proper cause? And how could they proceed?"

John nearly rolls his eyes. Honestly. This dialogue?

Most probably the _numero uno_ among the most ridiculous conversation between Sherlock and him.

"They fantasize, Sherlock. Haven't you ever had an erotic dream?"

Sherlock frowns and looks to the hearth, bemused.

"I don't think so..." He says quietly, hesitantly. John feels a bit sorry for this exceptional human being. He wonders how bewildering must have Sherlock's teenage been. Clearly he didn't have friends, nor had he a sibling close to him enough to chat about girls... Or boys, what could John know. The Holmes' brothers grew up among calm people, who thought about affection or sex like about something redundant and tedious.   

"What do _you_ fantasize about?" Sherlock asks abruptly and John startles.

"That's really very personal question, Sherlock." He answers and chuckles a bit. But Sherlock definitely doesn't know a thing about boundaries and keeps staring at him. "Mostly about someone touching me. Or kissing me. Or both. Or having sex in places I've never had sex before." _With you_ ,  _mostly,_ John added in his mind with a sigh.

"Does it work even when you're not interested in sex at the time?"

 _If it works when..._ Oh, hell. This is just so weird.

"Yes. You should try it yourself." John pauses and then giggles. "Sorry. Um. For the giggling I mean." He snorts. "B-but it's just..." He sighs when he looks at Sherlock who watches him blankly. "It's a bit weird to recommend you something like _that_ , when you're... Oh, never mind." He stands up from his chair. "I'm going to Tesco, fancy anything?" He really needs to go out now. Anywhere.

"We're out of honey," Sherlock says and takes his violin, caressing it mindlessly.

"Right," John mutters and leaves.

Sherlock sits there, thrums his violin from time to time, looking a bit lost.

_This was interesting, in the end. Intriguing, indeed. He needs more data._

He puts off the instrument and grabs John's laptop, looking for temporary files from internet. John is an average man of his age and concerning his lack of sex recently, he must have look for it elsewhere.

There.

Sherlock's eyebrows rise pretty high.

Oh.

_Oh._

This is... not even slightly expected. What Sherlock _has_ expected were tons of pictures or materials on porn, a heterosexual porn, strictly speaking.   _Not_ something where two... Two _men_...

Sherlock blushes crimson, feeling his cheeks get hot rather vividly. He quickly gets rid of evidence of his intrusion to John's privacy and puts the laptop back in its place.

In that moment John comes in, looks at bemused Sherlock and with a shake of his head he carries bags with food in the kitchen.

Sherlock is observing his movements, seeking for... What exactly?

He isn't sure. Maybe a proof of John's bisexuality?

John has never gone on a date with a man. Not since he moved in with Sherlock, anyway. Perhaps he doesn't want anybody to know about it?

Sherlock doesn't notice when John leaves again, but suddenly he is alone in the lounge and the dark outside suggests it is quite late.

He goes to bed.

 

OoO

 

He is used to dream a lot, as one's brilliant mind is able to, and his dreams are always truly colourful and intense. It doesn't occur to him they are special in any way, he mostly dismisses them as something his mind is doing to sort out the mess of new memories and data.

So. When he dreams this night, he could dismiss it in the very same way.

Except he couldn't.

Thrashing in his bed, muttering, and _moaning_ , for God's sake! Wherever it comes from? (well, apparently from Sherlock's mouth, to be precise...)

Anyway...

After quite restless night, Sherlock wakes up with a new sort of dream in his memory and an erection.

He has had rather a lot of experiences with the latter, nor the former. But both in the same time? Sherlock lifts his duvet, tangled round his body, and glances down _there_. (You see, he is perfectly aware of idioms for a penis, but he can´t use them, not even in his own mind. So here we are, talking like a ten-year-old.)

That is interesting. He covers up again, staring up blankly, deducing himself.

Heart rate – elevated, that he can tell. Sweating slightly, even his hands are a bit damp, and his hands are never damp, that is vital for most of his experiments. Breathing quickened... And down there is a clear evidence of arousal.

Sherlock never does _arousal._

And yet.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

Maybe he can do something the men on John's laptop were doing. Just for scientific reasons, obviously. For a start, let's say... Visualizing the dream.

 

 _Touching... Touching, licking... Kissing..._ _Kissing_ there...

 

Sherlock gasps and opens his eyes when he feels _twitching_ of his member.

Interesting!

He doesn't know why exactly (but his body evidently does and it acts of its own volition, finally), but his right hand slides down between his legs and gropes a bit – and Sherlock, not even slightly used to this intensive feeling, comes with a loud groan.

At first he winces a bit when he feels the effect of his... He isn't  sure if it could be counted as a wank.

But then he laughs, a bit dizzy because of that satisfied feeling.

He lays there, grinning contentedly, and when he hears a clink from the kitchen, he wipes himself clean, and dresses up.

 

OoO

 

John has an awful night.

He has several nightmares, and once he has to get up and run to the bathroom, retching violently in the sink.

He feels like a shit, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees his own unit dead, bodies ripped apart, heads missing. He rubs his face and whimpers quietly. He has some pills in the bathroom cabinet, which would make him sleep dreamlessly, but he doesn't want to take them, not even at night like this one.

He sighs, goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge to fish something to drink, but he swears when he sees a plate with fingers on it and bangs the door shut again.

" _Shhhit._ I swear I will kill him one day." He drinks from the tap instead and turns the tap off when he hears a noise...

He freezes. It came from Sherlock's bedroom.

" _Jo-o_..."

It sounds like sobbing?

John quietly comes to the bedroom's door and opens it a bit.

"Sherlock?" he whispers. "Are you ok?" He peeps inside when the detective sobs again.

Sherlock is spread over his bed, lying on his stomach, his duvet on the floor. He is thrashing and whimpering and John sighs ruefully. Apparently he isn't the only one with bad dreams.

He comes closer, lifts the duvet and covers Sherlock up, resting his hand on his shoulder for a while.

"It's ok, it's just a dream, Sherlock," he whispers and then...

Sherlock _moans_.

John gapes in the darkness.

Nah! He must have heard something different. Or his tired brain just imagined how...

"John," Sherlock moans again, and John flinches as if he has been shot again.

"Mmm," Sherlock adds and grips his duvet tightly, sighing.

John leaves the bedroom, not quite sure how he got in his bed again. He can't fall asleep till the dawn.

So.

Here he is, in the kitchen in the morning, making tea and his mind is whirling with possibilities, why was Sherlock dreaming... Was he even... About them?

And then he hears a laugh from Sherlock's bedroom.

Sherlock laughing when alone? Possible. But this early in the morning? Probable, in case he has just... That he has just...

No way. He said he didn't do _that_. But maybe he changed his mind?... Well, at least _someone_ is enjoying this morning. This is so weird. He takes out another mug and with an angry clink he places it aside of his own.

"John! Good morning! Have you slept well?" Sherlock almost _beams_ when he comes to the kitchen.

"Not really, no," mutters John.

And then, of all things, Sherlock starts to make a breakfast. John gapes in disbelief.

"But you did sleep well, I can tell," John says acidly. Sherlock pauses and... Are his cheeks a bit more rose? John inclines his head.

"Er. No, I did not, actually." He _smirks_.

John rolls his eyes and chuckles. He can't help it.

"Yes, I know." He grabs his mug and goes to the lounge. Sherlock stands there, nibbling at his lip, spreading strawberry jam on a toast absentmindedly. Did John see?... Did he hear something?

Sherlock takes their breakfast to the lounge and gives John his toast.

They eat their breakfast silently and shall we say, a bit awkwardly. Then, just out of the blue, Sherlock clears his throat.

"I can see your point, now."

John blinks and sips his tea.

"I see," he replies and they both look aside.

Truly English, aren't they?

"And?" John shifts slightly and what the hell, did he just asked his flatmate what was his first wank like or what?

Sherlock frowns a little.

"And what?"

John licks his lips and looks at Sherlock.

"Ah! Sure. You want to know if I... was successful, right? Well. I could say so, I presume." Sherlock smirks and blushes.

John watches him getting a wonderful shade of crimson and suddenly his mouth is watering. He swallows and observes Sherlock shifting, fidgeting, looking anywhere but at John.

"Well done," John says, swallowing again, not so hungry for a toast any more.

Sherlock flicks his eyes towards John, eyebrows rising slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, _then_. I said... Well, then. I think I just..." he points towards the bathroom with his thumb and jumps to his feet, suddenly nervous.

"John!" Sherlock is behind him in an instant and catches his shoulder.

"Yeah?" John tries to stay calm, but it is really difficult with all that tightness in his jeans. _Just don't look down, Sherlock, look in my eyes and my_ eyes _only_.

"If you want to tell me something... Anything. I will listen. And... I will not judge you, you know that?" says Sherlock and John's mouth shapes a beautiful "O". Sherlock can't help it but stare at the perfect circle.

Where do those strange feelings come from?

Is it because of the yesterday's research on John's laptop? Or the dreams? Or the...

 _Orgasm_ , Sherlock makes himself to think that out loud – although in his mind only. _Orgasm._

He finds out he wants another one.

John closes his mouth and shakes his head.

"It's nothing. It's just... It's nothing." He smiles and starts to turn once more, but Sherlock takes his hand and John flinches, "Sherlock, what the hell –"

"I saw your internet history yesterday."

John gasps, instantly forgetting about his hard problem.

"You what?" he whispers.

No, he didn't. He couldn't mean the... Could he?

"I was looking for the reasons... er, on what I had asked you before, and I came... across... those pictures. And videos." Sherlock looks on the floor and then on John who is imitating Sherlock's former shade of red.

"You didn't." says John with a frown, backing away.

Sherlock smiles. "But John, it's alright, I'd like to –"

"Shut up! It was private, Sherlock, _private,_ you have no right to... whatever! Even if you _came across_ something like that, you could have pretend you saw nothing."

Sherlock straightens his hand, fingertips touching only the air. John leaves the flat, stomping down the stairs and bangs the front door shut.

It seems to be _not good_ , Sherlock muses.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs off the flat. He's so furious! And ashamed. And god damn it hard as a rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing this story after two years, oh my... O.o I'm afraid my written English hasn't improved at all, but still. WIP needed to be finished so here we are.  
> Warning #1: English isn't my first language - so be strong. Otherwise, do not read at all, if you're one of those grammar nazis (not complaining, I'm one of them in my mother language hehe).  
> Warning #2: This *cough* story ended in such a different way... I reeeeally don't know how this happened. Rating changed to Explicit, for I'm not sure if this actually is E or M any more.

 

John runs off the flat. He's so furious! And ashamed. And god damn it hard as a rock.

Sherlock found out what John usually looks for on the internet, regarding sexual... relief. John rolls his eyes at a strange woman who's passing him on the street. At first, when she sees him, the woman looks at him and smiles, but after this grimace, she just spits, "You lout," and paces away, tripping a bit on her high heels.

John actually chuckles. He rubs his neck, pausing momentarily and turning around, watching the nice looking young lady go away. He thinks he should be far beyond the doubts, concerning his sexuality, and yet... He's just so angry at Sherlock! _And ashamed, again._

It should be alright, it _should_ be, really! His own sister is gay, after all. And he's been fine with that since her revelation at fourteen, so he was thirteen then. However...

He's never, ever, experienced so many confused feelings of his own, he was quite sure of his orientation. Until few weeks ago.

John sighs and turns round again, strolling the streets of London, which get really busy at this time of a day. People are everywhere, hurrying, running, going to work, probably. He stops in the middle of the pavement and looks ahead, feeling suddenly alone.

There are thousands of people who don't really care whether he likes his tea milky or sweet (just pure black, thank you), if he likes listening to pop or classical (he really doesn't mind, it depends on his actual mood – but Sherlock's playing is wonderful at most of the times), if he prefers women or men...

He shivers a bit and pulls his coat closer to his neck.

Someone bumps in his left shoulder and he hisses, frowning and glancing at the guy who causes this –

The guy is watching him intently, frowning as well, but rather because of confusion.

"John?" The man says hesitantly.

John licks his lips and inclines his head. He doesn't recognize the man at all.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite..."

"It's okay," the man smiles and offers his hand for a shake. "It's been a very long time. Victor. I was your neighbor, when we were about thirteen years. Well, you were, I was eight or nine, I don’t remember. We went play football outside..." Victor smiles weakly, until John's eyes brighten up a bit, as he remembers the lanky boy from the next door.

"Oh yes! I remember, hello, Victor," John smiles and shifts a bit. "It's been really long time, where did you disappear?"

"My parents divorced and I had to move with my mother." He shrugs.

John hesitates for a moment, but any kind of distraction from thoughts of one consulting detective are quite welcome at the moment.

"I was just going for a cuppa somewhere, do you want to join me? We could chat for a while," John offers, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, where is a coffee lounge.

"Why not? I have a day off anyway."

They sit near the window and order coffees, John goes for big black with two sugars, until he realizes it's how Sherlock drinks it. He sips it anyway and tries really hard not to think about his flatmate.

"So. How're you doing, John? I think you have a sister, right? I don't remember her name, though," Victor smiles a bit.

"It's Harriet, Harry for short. And she's... Well." John pauses, tapping on his mug awkwardly.

"Yeah. You don't have to talk about it, you know."

John smiles.

"Well, do you live in London, then?" Victor asks and observes John with slightly uncomfortable look, as if trying to figure him out.

"Yeah. I've been living here for... nearly a year, actually." John replies and tries hard not to blush. This question has nothing to do with Sherlock. Don't think about that git now, for god's sake!

He swallows a hot gulp, which nearly burns his throat.

"Well, that's similar to me."

"What do you do now, Victor?" John asks politely.

"I'm afraid I'm not able to talk about it. It's... really private. But let's say it has something with posh and utterly rich people who get bored so often they need somebody else to entertain them."

John frowns a bit and chuckles shortly, and Victor smiles.

"I think I can imagine several jobs of that description..." John says hesitantly and sips his ridiculously sweet coffee.

“Yeah, well.” Victor shrugs and licks his lower lip, then bites it a bit, observing John with narrowed eyes. “Actually, I know you’ve been living somewhere in London. It just didn’t occurr to me we would ever see each other.”

“Um. How do you mean?” John asks tentatively. Is his former neighbor something of a stalker or what?

“This will probably sound quite weird, but...” He barks a laugh and looks away, then smiles and leans forward. “I know you live with Sherlock Holmes. Actually, I know _him_ , we went to uni together. Such a coincidence that you two are together now.”

Ah. Sherlock’s blog, probably. Or John’s, for that matter. John shifts uncomfortably. This all sounds a bit... odd. Like there was something more to Victor’s words, but John just couldn’t decide what it was. 

“The universe is rarely so lazy,” he mutters, frowning at his cup.

Victor rises his eyebrows and snorts.

“And _that_ sounded just like something his brother would say.”

“Oh.” John blinks. “You know Mycroft?”

“I have the pleasure, yes,” Victor basically purrs his answer. What the hell is this about?

“I see.” No, he does not. But he is out of depth of what to say next. They sip their coffee in silence, until John blurts, “You were really close, then? You and Sherlock?”

Victor leans back to his armrest, smiling in a way that probably should seem coy for most people. John realizes he sees through him – this isn’t about coyness, this smile is alike of a feline, too many teeth, whisking tail and all that.

“Oh, we were. I was his close friend then. I must admit there could have been more, if he just as pointed one of his seductive fingers at me. The temptation of a virgin,” he muses and John shivers. “You should’ve seen him swooning over his colleagues making out together, when he thought no one was looking, but I saw. I _observed_ him, as he’d undoubtedly say. It was all an experiment, or so he insisted. He told me once he didn't understand why people bother with such pedestrian and sloppy activities. He was so very bizarre and... a bit of a freak. Funny, really.” Victor laughs shortly and suddenly John doesn’t want to share anything with this bloody Victor any more.

“Ah. Ok. I’ll better go now.” John stands up, leaving his unfinished coffee on the table.

“You’re leaving already? I hoped for some details on Sherlock’s behind the scenes life,” he smiles crookedly. John scoffs.

“Yes. Well. I don’t think I’d like to confess anything of the matter to you, you know? It wasn’t a pleasure to meet you, after all, Victor. Good bye.” John walks out of the lounge, unable to wait for some kind of polite answer. He suspects he would have heard none anyway.

John strides through London streets, lost in thought yet perceptive to his surroundings, until he finds himself back at home, the door to the street banged shut behind him. He tries to calm down but really, this bloody Victor has just rubbed him up the very wrong way indeed.

“Sherlock!” he shouts once he’s run up the stairs. “Sherlock?” More slowly now, trying to get a grip on his temper, he walks in the lounge. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen, John peeps behind the corner through the kitchen – Sherlock’s bedroom door is closed.

“Damn.” John’s too wound up to just sit and watch telly, and he’s quite possibly alone, since Mrs. Hudson didn’t look why he’d shouted downstairs (he’s not the shouty one of the two of them after all), so he decides to take a long shower, to wash down thoughts of bloody Victor What’s-his-name. _The temptation of a virgin..._

“Damn!”

John puts off his coat and jumper and leaves them on his chair, kicks his shoes and socks aside, and strides to the bathroom door. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he turns the tap on and strips his shirt and tee off. He unbuttons his fly and stares in the mirror above the basin. His face seems to be so weary and old, wrinkles everywhere and those bags under his eyes, Jesus. John frowns and sighs. What has he been thinking, really? Fantasizing about Sherlock? God, that gorgeous creature of consulting detective has just discovered his own libido, as it seems, and wouldn’t it be just fortunate if he aimed it at John! But that’s never going to happen, what with John’s never-ending sexual crisis and his looks. _Not gay_ is ringing in John’s ears, when he turns to the door to close them before undressing completely.

He startles when he sees Sherlock standing behind the door, watching John’s bare torso intently.

“Huh.” John shifts from foot to foot, trying to quickly button his fly up again. “I was just... going to...” He tosses his head in the direction of now finally steaming shower. Sherlock lifts his hand and opens the door with his long index finger. John frowns. “Do you mind?” John tries to shut the door, but Sherlock doesn’t let it happen. “Sherlock! What the h...!?”

“Let me watch.”

John makes a step back, mouth open wide, forgetting immediately what he was trying to say. He giggles nervously and licks his lips. “Right. Like hell I’ll let you. Get out.” John tries to lean on the door to shut it at last but Sherlock promptly gets in and props against the near wall instead.

“Get out! I mean it, Sherlock!” John fumes and paces that small place desperately. Sherlock’s fierce eyes follow his movement.

“Come on, John, you can’t be possibly shy about your nudity, you certainly couldn’t afford this habit in the army days.” Sherlock smirks. “Oh. And you can just stop marching here like a tiger in a cage, I already know about your boner.” John stops on the spot, staring with disbelieve at his flatmate. “You want to know about my sex life, where there is none. I’m amenable to change that because of you. Due to our previous misunderstanding, I’ve been thinking about your words and came to a conclusion.” Sherlock paused, looking slightly abashed.

“C-care to enlighten me?” John stuttered.

“Fantasizing about some... subjects can be quite... pleasant.” Sherlock leaves his mouth open, eyes narrowed, as if that last word still makes him doubt. “Particularly when I fantasize about you,” he adds, expectation plain in his face.

John looks at him, really looks. Sherlock stands with his back straight as a rod, hands fidgeting now and then, one button, the one right above the hem of his trousers is  _open._

“Oh. I see,” John sighs with a smile. Sherlock frowns.

“Do you?”

“I’m pretty sure. You want to watch. Shirt off, then.” He waves his hand to Sherlock and starts unbuttoning his trousers again.

“What do you mean? Is this some kind of rule or what?” Sherlock asks uncertainly.

“You’ve already started some time ago. Might as well finish it.” Sherlock huffs when he finds his shirt open in the most compromising place and his cheeks blush. He starts to undo all buttons, watching John undress himself.

John takes off his trousers, standing in the middle of steaming bathroom only in his pants. Sherlock minutely stares at his crotch. Those deep red pants leave nothing to imagination, really. John smiles crookedly, in for a penny... And takes the pants off as well. Sherlock makes a small sound.

John turns round without a single word, gets in the tub and aims the spray head on his face, washing it for a minute, then bends a little, leans his hand against the wall and lets the water run over his back. He turns his head to the side, looking at Sherlock, who’s just standing couple of feet from him, roaming with his grey eyes turned black over John’s body until he looks up to John’s face.

“I reckon this is the moment where you touch yourself.” Sherlock licks his lips and directs his sight to John’s erection again.

John silently grasps his cock and gives it few pumps, observing Sherlock’s reactions. What he didn’t expect was the effect of Sherlock’s speeding breathing on John’s own arousal. He moans and closes his eyes for a moment, when the detective puts his hand on John’s shoulder. John opens his eyes and stares at Sherlock. Every moment, there are less boundaries between them left. How far will Sherlock push?

“You are fantasizing when I’m _right here?_ ” he asks incredulously. John laughs.

“Yeah. I am.” He glances down at his hand gripping his cock and then looks at Sherlock again.

“But why?” John wonders if he just imagined that look of hurt in Sherlock’s face.

“Because you _are_ here,” John starts stroking his cock again and Sherlock’s eyes immediately follow the movement. “An you’re watching... And I’d love to do more than that. So.” John sighs and closes his eyes again, visualizing Sherlock kneeling in the tub in front of him, mouth just this close from John’s slit which would like to be licked, thank you. Since this is just a fantasy, John lets his thumb slide up and down the slit, grunting.

“Tell me what you see,” Sherlock says so quietly John almost mishears him over the rush of falling water. What he definitely hears then is rustling of clothes. He opens his eyes a bit and sees that Sherlock is undressing himself, shoes and socks and trousers off... He’s just about to take off his pants when he notices John watching him. He pauses for a moment, but then with one swift movement takes the last piece of clothing and stands there absolutely, gorgeously naked, his cock swelled and leaking already. John gasps, grits his teeth to prevent coming on the spot.

“Jesus,” he turns his head away for a second, his cock throbbing. He squeezes it a bit and waits for the tsunami of arousal to calm down, but the thought of having the only consulting detective naked right beside him is too tempting, he looks back again.

Sherlock is holding his balls, stroking them with his thumb. He wets his lips.

“Tell me. Please.”

“Right. Right. Okay. Just wait a minute.” John closes his eyes and the feeling of one particular pair of eyes watching him sends shivers over his body. “Alright. You’re here. With me.” He starts stroking himself again. He’s not going to last long. He pauses and bites his lower lip.

“Am-m-I touching you?”

John moans when he hears that little stutter.

“Y-yes.”

Sherlock’s hand is suddenly touching John’s lower thigh and sliding up.

“Like that?” Sherlock asks uncertainly and John huffs then remembers this is their first time in so many ways.

“N-not. Particularly. There. Hmmf.” The light touch, however, sends sparks right to his aching groin. Sherlock hums and relocates his left hand to John’s crack, stroking there gently with one finger.

“Elaborate, then,” he sighs. John wants to scream. The fantasy about Sherlock sucking John's cock changed to Sherlock fingering John's arse.

“Well. You. You just... changed the scenario.”

“Did I really?” Sherlock asks with surprise and stops moving.

“Oh _don’t stop_. Please.” Sherlock slips his finger between John's cheeks and touches so... much... lower.

“Better?” he asks curiously.

John only grunts, “Hnnnng... Ahh y-yes... Sherlock – _Sherlock!_ ” ...and when Sherlock’s finger tries to push _in_ , John’s knees nearly buckle and he’s -

"Jesus fucking Christ d-don't - don't you stop oh fuck oh-fuck-Sher... _YESSS..._ "

\- coming hard, panting, trying not to black out. Sherlock then moves his hand on John’s hip, brushing small circles there with his thumb, until he’s suddenly not. He's gripping John’s hip more fiercely now and John rests his chin on his shoulder, takes a deep breath and makes his eyes open and he sees –

And he sees Sherlock, eyes shut, mouth tight, his body trembling. His hand is moving furiously over his cock and after several seconds he gasps, mouth slack and head falling back, grunting deeply and he’s finally coming, spraying John’s thigh with his cum.

After a moment he looks at John, who turns off the water, suddenly cold.

Their panting echoes through the quiet bathroom. Sherlock grins, eyelids heavy. John grins back.

“Well. That was.”

“Indeed.”

“I didn’t see this coming.”

“Of course you did, John.”

John giggles.

“You know what I mean.”

“Mm. I suppose bed is in order.” Sherlock pulls John’s towel from the rack and passes it to him.

“Thanks. Um. Are you suggesting?...”

“Sleeping together in my bed, I believe. We can talk things through later.”

Sherlock dries himself as well and opens the door, watching John expectantly.

“What things?” John asks with a slight frown.

“Dull things. Now we’re presumingly boyfriends. So things like law and order in one household, making tea and whatnot.”

“Boyfriends,” John huffs and shakes his head. Sherlock pauses in the door frame, looking suddenly very self-conscious.

“Or not,” he says drily.

John rolls his eyes.

“Boyfriends will do,” he smiles. “And now do move, _darling_ , since I’m suddenly very cold. Your bedroom.”

Sherlock smiles as well, bends his head and gently kisses John’s lips.

“Very well.” He grins and strides to his bedroom. John gazes dreamingly in front of himself for a minute.

“Wait a second! I need a proper cuddle, not just a peck!”

Sherlock’s chuckle is the only answer before John goes to Sherlock’s bedroom, shuts the door, and kisses one detective senseless.

 

 

 


End file.
